


Train of Pain

by Ilthit



Category: Community (TV)
Genre: Bars and Pubs, M/M, Polyamory, Wordcount: 1.000-3.000, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000, third act apology
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-01
Updated: 2015-07-01
Packaged: 2018-04-17 10:10:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4662720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ilthit/pseuds/Ilthit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"To the things we do to get away from our friends," Duncan toasted.</p><p>"And all the people who care about us."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Train of Pain

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hedwwig](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hedwwig/gifts).



This was the only bar in the greater Riverside area that showed Premier League on a big screen. Not the greatest business strategy this side of the pond, but Jeff figured when you love a sport you love it more than money. Right now it was showing cricket, and the barman, who gave the overall impression of a potato on legs, never once looked away while pouring their drinks.

Duncan took a sip of his lager and made a face. Jeff took that as a sign not to even bother with his. "And a Scotch, please."

"I'm too sober for this piss," said Duncan, held his nose and chugged his drink.

"Make that two."

It was Friday night, but they had no trouble finding a booth. There was an older couple shuffling on the six foot square dance floor and a gaggle of regulars around the sole billiard table. At least this time the worn leather seats didn't stick to your pants.

They clinked their drinks. "To the things we do to get away from our friends," Duncan toasted.

"And all the people who care about us." The drink burned down Jeff's throat, as comforting as any bad choice regularly made.

Duncan swallowed and shook his glass at Jeff. "Don't."

Jeff raised an eyebrow.

"Do not get maudling at me. The Dean made me see actual patients today. If I have to listen to another story of lost love, I swear to God, I will stab myself with the Titanic and puke my guts on your $400 shoes."

"The ship or the Bluray?"

"Either way those shoes will never be the same."

"I'm not thinking about Annie," Jeff lied by omission. "It's been over a year."

"Great. Now we're talking about her. Jeff, can we not just sit here and talk about football, or moral relativity if you want to kick it old school, or anything except other people's bloody sex lives?"

Someone switched the jukebox to Heartbreak Hotel. "I get the feeling I'm not the one who needs to unload."

"How about we drink in silence?"

They tried that for about four minutes. At the bar, a woman was ignoring the stud who had his arm around her. Her markers drew Jeff's eye: electric blonde hair down past her shoulder-blades, an unforgiving dress hugging her hips, and the smooth lines of her thin arms, contrasting the curves of the stud's bulging biceps. Jeff looked away.

Duncan broke down first. "Why would you even make a stage version of Space Jam? And how is Chang cast as Michael Jordan?"

"They can't be serious, can they?"

"Well, it's the same guy who directed him in Karate Kid. If anybody's gonna wring tears out of rabbits playing basketball, I hear he's the guy."

It wasn't what Jeff meant. He took another drink.

Duncan squinted at Jeff shrewdly. "Wait, who? Chang and Dean Pelton?"

Jeff glared a warning at Duncan over the rim of his glass.

"Oh, Jeff, that is precious. The guy who's had an embarrassingly public crush on you for as long as you've known each other finally gets with someone else, and now you're jealous? Don't be Gerda van Houden from second form, Jeff."

"Ian, you are not pushing me into a third act apology."

"A what?"

"I don't have to ask. He'd choose me, right, if I asked? I have to be better than Chang."

"Well, it's an uphill battle, but blow me some time and I'll let you know."

Jeff cocked his head.

"The point is, no matter how many hot people with tight bodies move on after you've dangled them on a string for years, there'll always be more. You're Jeff bloody Winger, aren't you? You could be 65 and sporting a beer gut and you'd still be pulling."

The reference to a beer gut made Jeff's innards lurge. "You're not helping."

"Look at me."

Jeff did. Duncan was wearing something atrocious with a horse-shoe patterm under a sweater vest that, considering the competition, was an improvement. There was no sign of the protruding belly that haunted Jeff's nightmares, but alcohol had added a touch of puff to his cheeks, which only made his teeth look more prominent. It wasn't a great look.

"What you and I have in common is a steadfast refusal to be emotionally honest. The difference is that I am going to die alone, and you don't have to. You don't have dibs on insecurity. So stop whining, shut up, let's get drunk and..."

"And?"

"Hit on women who'll never sleep with us?"

"Then go home and bang Chang?"

"Let it go, Jeff."

"Why Chang? You're not even gay."

"Neither are you. And yet here we are."

"You want emotional honesty?"

"No, I really don't."

"I don't sleep with guys because that's not who I want to be. That wasn't who I wanted to be when I was a lawyer and it wasn't who I wanted to be as a community college teacher. Like you said. I'm Jeff Winger. That's not something you just let go of."

"Please stop."

"Maybe Gerda von Houden wasn't just scared of being alone. Maybe she wasn't ready to be with someone, either. Second form? Is that like fifteen, sixteen?"

"Twelve."

"Wow. Yeah. But I'm 42. Come on." Jeff stood up.

"Whatever's happening, I don't like it." Duncan hugged his pint, but Jeff pulled him up on his feet.

"We're doing a third act apology."

-

They could smell the baked beans before the door even opened. Craig stood back as he saw them. "Jeffrey! Ian. You two are soaking wet."

"Yeah." Duncan shook rainwater out of his shoe and onto the growing puddle in the hall-way. "In a flash of genius, Mr. Winger decided we should bust in on your dinner date while inebriated. He thinks it will make you love him again. I blame Hollywood."

"What's going on?" Chang wondered into the background. He was, thankfully, fully dressed and – less thankfully - wearing a leather apron that was clearly did not look like it was intended for the kitchen.

"Dean – Craig... Chang. Guys, I realized something today."

Chang groaned. "I'm in the middle of making burritos."

"No, no, let's hear him out." Craig waved a hand at Chang, shining up at Jeff.

"You guys – you two – you go out there and grab happiness by the balls."

"Often literally," said Duncan, shaking out his tweed coat.

"It's something that I have been--"

"Yeah, sorry, I'm getting back to my burritos." Chang walked back to the kitchen.

"Come on in," said Craig and waved them in. "My goodness, you are dripping. Did you walk? Let me set another couple of places at the table."

"What I'm trying to say..."

"Could I borrow a dry shirt?" asked Duncan. "And I can't guarantee it won't have vomit on it when you get it back, I should say that right now."

"Follow me. How do you like pink?"

"Did you know it used to be considered a masculine color?"

"Craig!"

"Love you, too, Jeffrey," Craig chirped over his shoulder and ushered Duncan into the bedroom.

Jeff looked around. It was a nice apartment. There were hardly any pictures of dalmatians. Agatha Christie – the St. Bernard, not the long-dead author – gave Jeff a curious look from her place by the faux fireplace. 

"Beans give me gas!" Jeff yelled at nobody in particular, and took off his coat.


End file.
